time was come, and that he was the chosen instrument of the long expected deliverance. To one or another of these, thousands of the unthinking multitude had gathered themselves, and had been drawn into open defiance of the constituted authorities, in consequence of which they had perished miserably, with their self-deceived or deceiving leaders, by famine, or the sword, or the ignominious death of traitors; leaving nought behind them but scorn for their delusion, and hatred for its consequences.

Shortly before the time of which I am now writing, another had appeared, professing also to be the glorious personage foretold by the prophets, but whose life and character, as far as I could learn it from those with whom I then conversed, formed a striking contrast, not only with the history of his predecessors in the career of seeking for popular favor, and the honor of being considered the deliverer of the nation, but, if possible, still more so with what was expected among the people of him, to whom this character should truly belong. With his early history my informants did not seem to be very well acquainted; but I gathered from them that he was by birth of humble extraction, and a native of an obscure and poor village of Galilee, simple in his manners, and making no pretensions to any temporal authority, and countenancing no resistance to the established civil powers. The character in which he appeared was that of a religious teacher, wandering about the country, attended by a number of followers, the principal of whom were said to be a few poor fishermen of those who gained a humble living upon the shores of the lakes of Tiberias and Gennesareth. As convenience or pleasure dictated, he would stop at various places, and exhort the multitudes that soon assembled about him from curiosity or desire of instruction, warning them of their sins, and of the punishment to which they would bring them in a future state of being, and desiring them to repent, to believe in him, to lead holy lives, and assuring them, as a reward, of happiness that should await them in the same future state. He was said, also, to declare new and singular opinions concerning the Supreme Being, whose immediate messenger and authorized agent he professed to be, and whose especial power he asserted to be vested in himself; and he was affirmed to make light of the authority of the laws of our religion, as inculcated by the priests and elders, whom he denounced with much bitterness. There were also reports of various things that he had done in confirmation of the truth of his profession, and in corroboration of his assumed authority, which, if correct, showed him to be possessed of powers beyond the natural endowment of man, and equally wonderful with those exercised by any of our ancient prophets. Such was the amount of the confused and imperfect accounts I then collected concerning this new teacher; and, considering the remoteness of my situation and the errors to which popular reports are obnoxious, I afterwards wondered to find them so near the truth as they actually were. It was added, that, though bitterly opposed by the priests, the zealots of the law, and by many of the higher classes, and the pretenders to secular power, he had greatly conciliated to himself the favor of the middling and lower orders of the people, particularly those of simple and unambitious views, and that some, even among the titled and rulers of the land, were not averse to his doctrines, while the quiet tenor of his course,

and his peaceable demeanor had suffered him to pass without ostensibly attracting the stern watchfulness of our foreign rulers, and even, from default of reasonable grounds of offence, saved him from the well attested malignity of the priests and zealots, which yet watched eagerly for the commission of something which might serve as a pretence for his destruction.

Among those, who had either become converted to his views or attached to his person, or perhaps both, my cousins were numbered; and, it was said, that they evinced even more than common reverence and affection for him. Of the truth of this I was anxious to know, and, if I found it true, to ascertain the meaning and extent of this, as I then deemed it, singular and dangerous delusion, and by what means it was brought about.

Such was the source of my curiosity. Though brought up from my earliest youth with an habitual reverence for our holy law, and with a firm belief in its truth and divine origin, I was yet no bigot. My wanderings had taught me that many discrepancies of opinion concerning certain points of it were to be found even in our own race, especially among those whose home was not in the inheritance of the sons of Jacob. They had also led me into much and close intercourse with many of the heathen nations, more especially the Greeks and Romans; and, though I could not but both despise and abhor their impious idolatry, and the obscene and abominable rites that made a part of it, yet I found among the worshipers by no means a corresponding destitution of those qualities, that constitute moral excellence. I found, among the votaries of Jupiter or Apis, many, whose virtue and kindness would have done credit to a purer and more holy religion, and I learned, that sincerity and truth were of higher importance than adherence to ceremonials. Yet I could not feel altogether unconcerned at hearing of the credence my kindred were said to have given to the author of the new doctrine, which seemed to militate so much with the faith and observances of our fathers; and was yet in hopes to find the reports exaggerated, or to be able, by renewing our old friendship, to exert an influence that might counteract any bias of mischievous tendency in their minds.

Having accordingly made a few necessary preparations, I set out on my journey; but learning on my way from a public messenger whom I accidentally encountered, that Pilatus had withdrawn himself from the city for a few days of relaxation from the fatigues of business, I determined to spend the interval of time before his expected return, in making my intended visit. Turning aside, therefore, from the direct road to the city, I took an unfrequented route across the country, which, at the close of the next day brought me to the dwelling of my kinsman.

On entering the court of the house, I heard sounds of lamentation from within, that told me of the presence of some new calamity, probably of the death of one of the inmates. This was soon confirmed by the intelligence of an aged domestic, to whom I made myself known, but who, though familiar to me in former days, had much difficulty in recognizing me. The news was indeed afflicting; the death that had happened was that of my kinsman himself, who had expired a few

days before, after a short and severe illness, and whose body had that day been deposited in the sepulchre.

Inured, as I was, to suffering and affliction, my sorrow was great, and naturally increased by the thought of the recentness of the event; at the very time, too, when my mind was busy in contemplating the pleasure of our expected meeting, and looking forward to a renewal of our ancient friendship. A week, or too sooner, and I should have found him in health; and, so slight are the circumstances by which the changes of human affairs are connected, our meeting, by affecting a change in the current of his thoughts, in the routine of his occupations, or in particular circumstances of exposure, might have so altered the connexion, that possibly this fatal event might not have taken place. How momentous a change that event was destined to produce in myself, it did not occur to me to contemplate, nor even if it had, would the reality ever have occurred to my wildest imaginations.

The idea of meeting again for the first time, in this, the moment of their great bereavement, the sisters to whom I had been so long a stranger, was very painful. It would awaken with additional force the remembrance of past sorrows, and make them doubly poignant by the present anguish. It might, however, after the first awakening of these feelings, be the means of some solace, as they would naturally want some one for a protector and friend, an office which belonged now to me, as the only near male relation that the Divine Will had spared to them.

The particulars of this first meeting it is unnecessary to relate; it was indeed, as I had expected, fraught with much of painful excitement and remembrance. When, however, a few hours of repose had brought our minds to a calmer state, and I had leisure to contemplate my kinswomen, I noticed considerable alteration in their appearance. When I last saw them, they were arrayed in the buoyant graces of youth, which had now given place to the more mature and less obtrusive beauties of perfect womanhood. The trials they had undergone, had given a pensive cast of expression to their countenances, but what struck me as most unusual, was the calmness of sorrow which mark"ed their present demeanor, very different from that often displayed upon similar occasions by our Jewish women. It seemed as if some latent and undefined hope still lingered in their bosoms, though their words gave it not utterance; or, as if some internal source of tranquillity breathed its balm over the wounds of their affliction, and afforded a solace ordinarily denied.

In endeavoring to account to myself for this, I was led to connect it with what I had heard of the doctrines of the new Teacher, and of the belief they were said to have given to him; and though I internally smiled at the false impressions under which I supposed them to labor, with perhaps a mingled feeling of contempt for their weakness, yet I could not but own, that, so far as concerned their own feelings, the effect was happy. It, however, increased my desire to know more of the matter, while the circumstances of their situation rendered it proper for me, for a while, to repress my curiosity, which, however, it was appointed should soon receive an unexpected gratification.

On the fourth day after my arrival, while sitting with the sisters in company with a number of their friends and relations, who had come,

according to custom, to pay a visit of condolence, one of the sisters left the room, as was supposed for some domestic purpose. Her prolonged stay, however, after a time, excited our curiosity, and in some degree occasioned uneasiness, when she suddenly entered, as if from a walk and flushed with exercise. As she hastily crossed the apartment towards her sister, I noticed, however, an illumination of the eye, and an excitement that betokened more than the mere use of the corporeal powers; her feelings were evidently awakened in no common manner, though the briefness of the time, and the rapidity of her movements did not permit me to analyze the nature of her emotion, farther than that it did not appear to be either of grief or anger.

Hastily approaching her sister, she stooped down, and uttered a few quick words in a low voice. The sister started with a brief suppressed exclamation, and, hastily rising, they left the room together, without making any apology, or appearing to notice the presence of their guests, otherwise than by the low tone of the words that passed between them, which seemed not to be meant for general hearing.

The company at their abrupt departure arose also, one of them remarking, that the sisters were, doubtless, going to visit the tomb of their brother, there to give vent to their sorrow, and proposing that we should follow and join our lamentations and tears with theirs. To me, however, from the observations I had made upon the demeanor of the sister who had been absent, this did not appear to be a true explanation of their conduct; and, moreover, being seated the nearest to them of any one present, I had caught the words that she uttered, which were merely, "The Master is come, and asketh for thee ;" and the exclamation, that was uttered by her to whom they were spoken, was an expression of mingled pleasure and surprise. My curiosity, however, readily led me to comply with the proposal just mentioned, and we hastily followed at a small distance behind the sisters, who passed with a quick and hurried step from the house to the highway running near it, along which they pursued their course.

Proceeding for a little more than a furlong, we came to a glen opening to the road, at a little distance within which, under the shade of an aged and wide spreading sycamore, a considerable number of persons were standing. This collection was composed of persons of both sexes, and many of them seemed the ordinary inhabitants of that part of the country, mostly peasants, with, however, some of higher standing in society mingled with them. As our party approached, the crowd opened a little on the side nearest to us, and disclosed a smaller party, that seemed to form, as it were, a centre of attraction to the others, and directly towards this, the sisters bent their way with increased rapidity. As this central group became visible by the movement of the surrounding multitude, I glanced my eye among our own party to discover if they comprehended the meaning of it. That they did, was evident from the instantaneous change of their countenances, though the effect was widely different upon different individuals. On some, were visibly portrayed the expressions of surprise and gladness, on others, of vexation and anger; others showed merely looks of curiosity, or unconcern, while a few, of peculiar sanctimoniousness of demeanor, distinguished, by their phylacteries and the broad hem of their outer tunic, as belonging to the sect of the Pharisees, contracted their

brows, and with dilated nostrils, as if in the presence of some object both of fear and detestation, looked at each other, and threw towards the group above described glances expressive of deep hate and deadly malignity.

The truth instantly flashed upon my mind; this was the Teacher of whom I have spoken, and his arrival it was, that was announced by my kinswoman as the coming of "the Master." My attention was immediately directed to the group, which was now near enough to afford me a distinct survey of the persons of whom it was composed. The principal of these were hard-featured men, mostly of middle age, in the coarse dress of the lower class of peasants, and which bore evident marks of recent travel. All they had to distinguish them from any other collection of men of a similar class, was an air of superior intelligence and wisdom, while their looks, with a deep mixture of reverence, enthusiasm and love, were, for the most part, earnestly fixed upon one, who stood in the open centre of them, and who was evidently regarded by them as their leader. No second glance was required to confirm this impression, for nothing could be more dissimilar among men in external appearance, than was that of this person compared with that of his followers.

This difference was not by any means in merely outward habiliments, for his dress, though neat, was unaffectedly simple and plain, and, like that of his companions, showed that he was a way-farer. So perfect a form, so noble and lovely features, had never before met my eyes. I had gazed upon the symmetrical figures and beautiful countenances of the Greeks, even when carried to what was deemed a faultless exemplification in the statues of their false gods. I had seen the finest specimens of the human race, from every known country under the heavens; but they were but human. The eye, and the mouth, those great keys of expression, spoke of the earth, of its hopes, and its passions; even the contour of the frame, in its different varieties, told of its fitness for the various exertions and graces of the world, and much as artists had labored, and successful as they had thought themselves in eradicating this expression from the representations of their divinities, memory brought its existence to my mind, in contrast with what I now saw, as but too apparent.

The form of the countenance upon which I looked, was in its outline decidedly Jewish, but its unrivalled features bore no traces of the weakness of humanity, of its earthly desires, or its base or stormy passions. The full deep eye was of hazel, tinged with gray, and its glance, while piercing as an eagle's, was tender as that of a dove. It spoke of unerring penetration, wisdom and knowledge, and unconquerable fortitude, with mildness and patience that no provocation could excite to anger; all that could be conceived of benignity and love, united with unsullied purity, breathed around those lips; while these two features harmonized with each other, and with the rest of the face, in a manner the most perfect, yet the general expression was that of pensiveness, untinged, however, with aught of melancholy. Corresponding with these traits was the character of the body and limbs. The eye could rest upon no faulty proportion, no want of harmony between the parts or in the whole, but no idea rose upon the mind of any peculiar adaptation, whether for feats of grace, agility or strength,